


The Dornishboy's Bride

by AdrasteaXV (incrediblycreativeusername)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Betrothal, Arya in Dorne, Badass Arya, Badass Oberyn, Based on book Dorne plotline, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Theorised R plus L equals J, Warging, shorter chapters, the Two Nymerias meet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incrediblycreativeusername/pseuds/AdrasteaXV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because let’s face it, everybody knows Arya would do well in Dorne.</p><p>[This is a Game of Thrones AU that diverges from canon at two key points. 1) The raven sent from Lysa to Catelyn warning against the Lannisters never reached Winterfell. 2) The confrontation between Arya and Joffrey happened far earlier, slightly differently of course, with Joffrey again being completely humiliated. As a result, Ned Stark chooses to remain in Winterfell and Robert Baratheon drags his family back down to King’s Landing early (while being thoroughly annoyed with Joffrey).]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> I always thought Arya would do well in Dorne, then I started considering the circumstances in which she would actually end up in Dorne. The concept sort of ended up as a complete canon divergence, so I am thinking about making this into a 'series' with different parts focussing on different members of the Stark family (possibly SanSan, though I'm still figuring out how that will work in this setting). Tell me if you think that is worth doing. :)

Sansa _despised_ her now.

Arya had not meant the way it had happened, truly, although when she had first told Jon about what had happened with Joffrey they had both laughed for hours. He had managed to stop laughing first, but then had taken one look at her still laughing and started up again.

Joffrey had managed to get the idea into his head that he was the best swordsman in the whole of Westeros, and was proving it by sneering at everybody around him and challenging children half his age who had never held swords in their lives. When he managed to beat them effortlessly, he had continued to brag about his prowess.

When he bragged about his prowess in front of Sansa, Arya had been almost certain that Sansa would swoon. It was ridiculous. Even against the children Joffrey just looked sloppy. Arya had said as much, and Sansa had looked absolutely scandalized and asked for Arya to apologize for her words.

‘I’m not going to apologize,’ Arya had said. ‘He _is_ sloppy.’

Sansa had glared at her, then smiled at Joffrey. ‘Do not listen to her, my prince. I know your sword-work is great.’

But that, of course, had not been enough for Joffrey. He had pointed his sword at Arya then, his real sword and not a training sword, pressing the tip against Arya’s throat. Arya had taken a quick step back, and Joffrey had laughed.

‘See how frightened she is of me. She knows I am the best swordsman,’ Joffrey had bragged, and Arya had decided she hated him more than she hated anybody else.

_(‘Joffrey would never really have hurt you,’ Sansa had wept later, when Arya had brought up this incident. Arya wished that just once, Sansa would side with her for a change. ‘Why were you so mean to him?’)_

The following day, scruffy-faced and dressed in breeches and a loose top, Arya had confronted Joffrey. He had boasted and jeered, and Arya remembered all the times she had watched Jon and Robb train, and the moves Jon had taught her that she was not meant to tell anybody else she knew. Joffrey was sloppy, and he had ended up disarmed and on his arse.

His reaction had been spectacular. Apparently, Joffrey never wanted to see any Stark ever again, he hated the North, it was filled with savages and so cold and he hated it and hated it and hated it. Arya had run, knowing she would be in big trouble, but the prince’s tantrum was far too funny for her to even consider the consequences more than that. When she and Jon had laughed together, it had almost felt worth it.

It had become far less funny very quickly. Everybody had been furious at her, even her father who she was sure did not even want to go down to King’s Landing in the first place. Every time her mother looked at her, Arya could see nothing but disappointment in her eyes, and she was made to attend lessons with Septa Mordane even more frequently than before. Her mother’s disappointment was mirrored in the septa’s eyes, but Septa Mordane was verbal about the disappointment as well. What was worse was that Sansa was there as well, Sansa was perfect at everything Arya was not, and Sansa _despised_ her.

_(‘I will never forgive you,’ Sansa had wept when her betrothal with Joffrey was officially broken. She repeated the same words when the royal wheelhouse had left Winterfell, with her still behind its walls instead of travelling down South like she wanted.)_

Every day Winterfell became even more stifling. She missed Jon, and every time she secretly practiced with Needle in her room she missed him even more, but he had left for the Night’s Watch with their uncle Benjen. Bran would sometimes climb up to her bedroom window and speak to her, Robb still ruffled her hair like he had done when she was far younger, and she and Rickon sat next to each other at meals and fed Nymeria and Shaggydog under the table, but she was now so caught up in lessons that she could only rarely spend time with them properly. Sometimes she snuck out, but then her mother’s and Septa Mordane’s disappointment increased and Winterfell became yet more stifling. Sometimes she felt like Nymeria was her only comfort, which was silly because she knew that her brothers still loved her.

But they would tell her parents about Needle. Nymeria never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sansa is one of my favourite characters, but this is book/season 1 Sansa who has not yet undergone character development and still thinks that Joffrey is her one true love gallant prince. 
> 
> This is mainly the setup chapter. Next chapter: Oberyn comes to Winterfell.


	2. The Arrival of a Prince

Arya blinked awake slowly, still tasting fresh blood in her mouth although a quick exploration of her mouth proved there was no blood present. Nymeria was massive now, as large as a pony but far fiercer. Her mother had forbidden Nymeria from being inside her room, and despite all attempts Arya had not yet found a way to sneak a pony-sized direwolf in without being spotted.

‘But you don’t want to be trapped, do you?’ Arya had asked one day, looking into Nymeria’s dark golden eyes. Nymeria had whined, and Arya had known for sure that it was true. At least one of them was free to explore.

Sometimes at night, Arya dreamed she was Nymeria. Then she could explore. She remembered the feeling of the forest floor and snow under her paws, the smells that were so much more intense than anything else she knew. She swallowed. The blood was definitely there, blood that she could taste but not feel.

“Arya, wake up,” Septa Mordane’s voice said from the other side of the thick door, badly muffled. “Your presence is required. You must not keep the prince waiting.”

 _What prince?_ Arya thought groggily. She could still hear the direwolves howling outside. It was barely morning. She got up and pulled the door open, and Septa Mordane stood there with Sansa by her side. Sansa, of course, already looked presentable. “What prince?”

“Lord Stark received a message this morning to expect Prince Oberyn of House Martell,” Septa Mordane said, wrinkling her nose as if there was something distasteful about that. Arya remembered enough of her lessons to know that it was impolite to offer that little notice, but there seemed to be more than that. _Sansa would still have swooned if it was Joffrey,_ Arya thought.

“You must get ready,” Sansa said, as cold as was possible without sounding rude. Arya was not sure at all how she was able to do that. “ _Please_ do not ruin it again.”

Arya bit her tongue so that she did not say anything that _would_ be considered rude and get an admonishing from the septa. _I didn’t ruin it. Joffrey ruined it. If he’s as gallant as you thought, he would not have thrown a tantrum._ It had been just over a year since Joffrey had left Winterfell, and she was still utterly sick of princes.

Both Sansa and Septa Mordane remained as the handmaidens got her dressed and ready, alternating between admonishing her and testing her.

“How do you get that many tangles in your hair? Sansa never has this many tangles in her hair,” Septa Mordane said as the handmaiden tried her best to yank the comb through her hair. Arya gritted her teeth and did not say anything. Her head was forced backwards every couple of seconds and the handmaiden Nyna looked at her apologetically.

Sansa, of course, beamed at every comparison. And she could answer every question.

“What is the seat of House Martell?” Septa Mordane asked her. Arya knew Nymeria the warrior queen had married Mors Martell after she had crossed the narrow sea with ten thousand ships, and after burning her fleet, they had conquered the rest of Dorne. Arya knew a hundred stories about Nymeria, but the actual name of the castle House Martell lived in now escaped her.

“I don’t know,” she said. Septa Mordane made a disapproving sound.

“Sunspear,” Sansa corrected. That did sound familiar.

“What is their sigil?” Septa Mordane asked, and Arya jutted her lip out instead of answering.

“A gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field,” Sansa said, looking upset. “You’re going to embarrass us all. I just know it.” Arya could not figure out how _that_ was not considered rude. Septa Mordane was still on Sansa’s side, as always.

Arya did not think Oberyn Martell would care if she could recite his house words or know a hundred facts about House Martell if all she was meant to do was remain silent anyway.

The moment the handmaidens were done getting her ready, Arya hitched her skirts up to her knees and escaped the room, ignoring Septa Mordane calling after her. It was the kitchens she fled to. Olivar, one of the cooks, always gave her some food whenever she came to him, and he would tell her stories from Essos she was half-sure could not be true at all. More importantly, if anybody came searching for her demanding she needed to return to lessons, he would claim not to have seen her.

The current ruling prince of Dorne was Doran Martell. House Martell’s words were _unbowed, unbent, unbroken._ House Martell had an ongoing feud with House Tyrell. Septa Mordane seemed intent on drilling those facts and others into her.

From the kitchen maids Arya overheard rumours that Oberyn Martell was currently in a brothel in Wintertown, and that his squire Daemon Sand had shown up late the previous night to announce his arrival come morning. The Red Viper seemed to have a reputation of whoring all through the Seven Kingdoms, like King Robert had, but unlike King Robert he seemed to have been _everywhere._ All the kitchen maids spoke of him in low whispers, some excited and very few blushing.

“Arya,” Father said, sounding almost exasperated when she showed up in the courtyard, her dress slightly dirty from where Nymeria had rubbed up to her. Nymeria followed her several steps behind, despite her half-hearted attempts to tell Nymeria to stay. He sighed, suddenly weary. “Just stand next to Sansa. I will speak to you later.”

Sansa gave her an annoyed look as Arya moved to stand between her and Bran, like she had done when the king had come up to Winterfell. Last time, Jon had had to stand behind, with Theon Greyjoy. This time Jon was too far away, and she had no idea where Theon was.

Oberyn Martell was not what Arya was expecting him to be. He did not look much like a prince, bundled up in thick black furs. His squire was the one who held the standard of House Martell, and he was almost equally bundled up in furs. They had a horse each, laden with provisions, but there was nobody else with them. It did not look like any sort of royal procession. If Oberyn wasn’t about twenty years older than his squire she would not have been able to guess who was the prince. Joffrey had not dressed for the weather at all, and had then complained about being cold. It just seemed silly now to compare Oberyn to Joffrey.

Oberyn’s eyes darted towards Nymeria for just a moment, but he did not seem surprised or afraid. He then focussed fully on Father, watching him. _He has the eyes of a viper,_ Arya thought. Perhaps that was why he was called the Red Viper.

“I welcome you to Winterfell, Prince Oberyn,” Father said, definitely sounding slightly weary to her ears. “I apologize we have not prepared you a feast but we were not expecting you, and we are building up stores for winter.”

Oberyn dismounted his horse, not even flinching when Nymeria let out a whine. And Arya _understood._

“Jon!” she exclaimed, not caring about the looks her mother and sister would no doubt have on their faces. She was meant to wait to be introduced, but she could not keep quiet. Oberyn had not been surprised at all to see Nymeria, or frightened. Even the black furs he was wearing now convinced her further. He had been to the Wall. He had seen Ghost. Nobody but Jon had another tame direwolf. “You’ve seen Jon.”

“This is Arya, my daughter,” Father introduced her carefully. Oberyn Martell looked at her with a sharp sort of interest.

“She is a smart girl. Yes, I have met Jon,” Oberyn said. “He gave me a tour of the Wall himself. It is an interesting place. Cold. Colder than this.” His eyes drifted back over to her father and gave him a piercing stare. “It surprised me that the boy has no idea who his mother was.”

Her father seemed almost frozen. Her mother did not drop her polite mask, but Arya could see the anger in her eyes. Nobody spoke for a long moment, and the Dornish prince raised an eyebrow.

“I believe we should speak privately,” Eddard Stark said. Oberyn Martell nodded his assent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next consideration was why Oberyn would go up north to begin with. 
> 
> And suddenly there is a plot outside just Arya being awesome in Dorne!


	3. The Wolfling and the Viper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry it took a little while to update. I get my exam results in 4 days (eep!), and as there is nothing to do about it and I need certain grades for uni I have been fretting and looking at all different things I could do after and need to do after and so forth. And I’ve finally downloaded Season 6 of Game of Thrones and (funnily enough) watched six episodes of it so far! Not really an excuse, but it sort of happened lol. 
> 
> Good news: Arya and Oberyn speak in this chapter!

“How is Jon?” Arya asked. Oberyn Martell was in the stables unloading provisions from his horse, while his squire did the same with his own mount. No doubt Father would have ordered somebody to help them, but they seemed to have turned them down as it was only the pair of them and a stableboy who was waiting for them to finish.

Whatever Oberyn Martell and her father had spoken about had left Father looking very exhausted. All he had announced was that the prince was welcome to stay for as long as he needed to, and Mother had then escorted him to the warmest room in the castle, while Septa Mordane escorted Arya back to her own room. She was meant to stay away from the prince, even Father had said so.

Oberyn looked up at her, his viper eyes watching her with interest.

‘Prince Oberyn is a dangerous man _,_ ’ Father had warned her, but Arya could not bring herself to be frightened. She was meant to have been confined to her room after Mother and Septa Mordane had scolded her, that same twin anger and disappointment in their eyes once more, and it would only increase when they found out she had snuck out. She hated them both then, and she had to know. Oberyn had seen Jon and spoken to him, and by her father’s reaction knew who Jon’s mother was although that mattered slightly less to her. Jon was her brother, no matter who his mother was, but Jon had always wanted to know. A prince from half a world away knew, when Jon himself did not.

“I asked him to write to me, but Uncle Benjen said that he couldn’t. As soon as a man takes the Black, he said, they don’t have sisters. Only brothers,” Arya continued. “But he didn’t write to Robb or Bran or Rickon either.” She hadn’t been expecting him to, as she had understood what Benjen had said no matter how much she hated it. But it still disappointed her, and she had yearned to follow him. After telling her that, Benjen had gone on to remind her about the story of Danny Flint, to make doubly sure that she would not.

“When your uncle left for the Night’s Watch, he did only have brothers,” Oberyn said, and perhaps something dangerous flashed in his eyes although he then smiled at her. “Jon seems happy at the Wall. He’s the Lord Commander’s steward, and when I was leaving they were just about to go beyond the Wall.”

“He always dreamed of going beyond the Wall!” Arya exclaimed. Sometimes she had pretended to be a wildling and Jon a ranger when she was practicing some of the moves Jon had showed her. It was mostly to entertain her though, she was sure, and somehow that just made her love it more. Once she had accused him of going easy on her, and he had almost instantly proven her right when he scooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder (she remembered letting out a rather undignified surprised squeak). They had been using sticks as swords that day, as Jon had not been able to sneak tourney swords away from practice. She had poked him in the back with the stick that had been in her hand.

‘You’re dead, I win,’ Arya had said, although Jon had probably only understood half those words as she had been laughing and shuffling on him, until he had lost his balance and she had landed on top of him. He’d let out an ‘oof’, and then he had been laughing near as hard as she had.

Suddenly she missed Jon more than ever.

“He misses you as well,” Oberyn said, although Arya had not said anything. It must have been written all over her face. “When I asked him about his family, you were the one he spoke of the most. He has a lot of fondness in his eyes when he speaks of you.” He paused, then smirked. His eyes shone with mirth. “Every man at the Wall has heard the story on how you put Joffrey on his arse. And now I know it. They know it up north at the Wall, and they will know it down south in Dorne, if they do not already. The prince Joffrey is a tantruming child.”

Arya made a sound that was half a snort and half a giggle, and Oberyn chuckled.

“Do you think he’ll cut himself on the Iron Throne when he becomes king, then start crying?” Arya blurted. It was the sort of question she would have asked one of her brothers, not a prince and not a man she had just met.

Oberyn looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think that will happen long before he becomes king.”

In this time, Daemon Sand had finished unloading both of the horses and was now slouched against the wall of the stable looking very amused. Oberyn picked up some of his belongings then looked at her.

“Where are you meant to be right now?” he asked, and Arya bit her lip.

“In my room. Mother said I should stay there,” Arya said. Even before her mother and Septa Mordane had scolded her together, Mother had scolded her for a full half hour for blurting what she had about Jon before Father and Oberyn were done speaking privately.

“If your mother asks, I will say you felt very bad and so you apologized just like she and your septa taught you,” Oberyn said, winking at her.

“She won’t believe you,” Arya said.

“I know,” Oberyn said. “But I would like to see her expression.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the story of Danny Flint, and the song ‘Brave Danny Flint’, was mentioned in ASOIAF maybe twice, but I don’t think it was mentioned in the TV series. Danny Flint dressed up as a boy to join the Night’s Watch, until one day the other men there discovered she was a woman and... she ended up dead in the general Game of Thrones fashion. Therefore, Benjen reminds Arya of the story to try to stop her from dressing as a boy and following Jon to the Night’s Watch. :(
> 
> And yes, we would all like to see Catelyn’s expression! :)
> 
> Edit: Hi everyone. I'm glad there are still people reading this. I am very busy at uni at the moment and I am putting this story on hiatus until the end of term (basically, until December). This story has not been abandoned.


	4. Crooked Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is only a quick chapter. I am very busy at the moment but I thought I would give everyone an update. Oberyn and Arya goodness. There will be some more plot in the next chapter.

Arya watched the Dornish prince train.

It had started with her escaping from Septa Mordane as once again her stitches were far too crooked. Arya had then pouted, and purposely made her stitches as crooked as she possibly could.

‘Arya, they are stitches. I don’t know how you are finding this so hard,’ Sansa had said, and Arya had wished Sansa had not spoken. She had lasted no more than five minutes after that, her stitches getting gradually worse even though it wasn’t deliberate. She would never be a lady like Sansa. Even after all the hours of practice she could not get her stitches straight. If only she could be like Robb or Bran or Rickon, and then she would get to train with a sword instead of trying to embroider a wolf onto a piece of cloth.

She’d only meant to stay in the training area for a second, she’d just wanted to see if her friend Patrek had finished mucking out the stables. Then she had only meant to watch Prince Oberyn train for a second, except his style was completely different to anything she had ever seen. Knights relied much on brute strength; instead, Oberyn looked almost like he was dancing. He danced around the blows, twirling his spear fancily. Daemon Sand used a sword instead of a spear, but even he used speed rather than strength.

Arya did not know how long she watched them for, hidden behind a wall so that they would not see her, only that she could not look away. Eventually, Oberyn deciding that the training session was over as he twirled his spear once more and buried the tip into the ground in a sweeping motion. Then, to Arya’s absolute surprise, he looked right in her direction, and bowed.

The prince left his spear in the ground, his squire quickly moving to retrieve it and clean it up, and he walked over to her.

“Where is it that you are meant to be this time, little wolf?” Oberyn asked, and for a moment Arya could only gape at him. Then she remembered how to speak again.

“With my septa,” Arya said, and Oberyn smirked. “I’m meant to be practicing my stitches. I can never get them straight.” She could almost hear Sansa being disappointed at her words, but she was unable to stop them.

“My daughter Elia is the same. Ellaria gave up years ago getting her to learn anything more than the basics,” Oberyn said.

“I wish I didn’t have to learn stitches,” Arya said, but she did not want to talk about stitches. “I’ve never seen anybody fight like you do. It’s amazing.”

“The fighting style is different down in Dorne. In most parts of Westeros, I have found, the fighting style is predictable. Heavy armour slows movement and prevents many motions. Skill and speed is a deadly as a heavy sword, and all armour has gaps,” Oberyn said. “It is not rare for woman to learn to fight.”

“For true?” Arya blurted, causing Oberyn to smile. “Ser Rodrik never let me train with my brothers. Jon and I would practice together, but often we just used sticks.”

Oberyn looked like he was taking her in. “The style Ser Rodrik will be teaching your brothers is not suited to you. The longsword is too heavy for you. You need a thinner blade.”

“I have one,” Arya said. “Jon gave it to me, before he left. I named it Needle.”

Oberyn laughed. “Alright, Lady Arya. I am going to speak to your septa, and tell her I will teach you some needlework. I am sure she will not object.”

At that moment, for the first time in her life, Arya was able to understand how Sansa could get so excited about meeting princes.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, sorry about this guys. I was given a ridiculous amount of uni work to do over the Christmas break, but I am slowly getting through it now. I will try to get at least one chapter up before full term starts in the middle of January, and write some stuff this weekend, depending on how much work I am able to get done.


End file.
